Returns and Replies
by Robin Birdie
Summary: Peter was gone. There was no question about it. So why did Wade so strongly believe he was alive? (Sequel to "Growth and Rebirth" - Complete)
1. Chapter 1

**Returns and Replies**

 **Chapter One**

"Poppa! Grandpa's here!"

Benjamin blinked away the sleep. It was difficult to focus so early in the morning, especially when April was so grumpy today and slept so little, but his son's exuberance was almost contagious. The little boy jumped on the heels of his feet at the bottom of the staircase; there was a red flush to his cheeks, whilst his Spider-Man pyjamas were buttoned wrongly and the bottoms hung far too low, and – for some reason – there was a sock on his head. It never ceased to amaze him how strangely his son could look, especially so early in the day.

He gave a yawn and climbed carefully down the last few steps. The living room felt somewhat chilly, which was unusual when Normie tended to see to the heating before he left for work, and he couldn't help but wonder why his fiancé would forget such an important chore. Benjamin adjusted April in his arms, where the sleeping baby murmured and hit him lightly with a closed fist, as if she wanted to protest at being jostled, and he laughed silently at how similar she was to him already. He couldn't deny he would much rather be in bed, too, but – instead – he picked the sock off Richard's head and placed it on the banister.

"Grandpa Foggy should be at work," said Benjamin with a yawn.

Richard pouted and puffed out his cheeks, enough that Benjamin balanced his daughter carefully and reached down to pinch his son's cheek, and Richard – hating such fuss – wafted his hand away and gave a groan. It was hard not to laugh when the five-year-old placed his hands on both hips and stuck out his chest, whilst he lifted his chin high and stood with legs apart, and he wondered whom the boy imitated with such body language. Benjamin yawned again, before he noticed that Richard was barefooted . . . with feet smeared in toothpaste . . .

"Why did you brush your feet?"

"Daddy pretended they were piggies and piggies have teeth!"

It was then that Richard snapped his arms together in mockery of a bite, as he gave a deafening roar and jumped as high as he could into the air. Benjamin winced at the sound, especially as it caused April to scream loudly into his ear and begin to fight him, and he was forced to bounce his daughter and hum a favourite tune of hers, as he glared down at Richard with a rather firm look. The young boy had the decency to look embarrassed.

"Sorry, Poppa!"

"Right," said Benjamin. "You do know that's just a song, though?"

"Yeah, but – but – but Daddy sings 'this little piggy has roast beef' and pinches _this_ toe -!" Richard pointed to his third toe and hopped to do so effectively. "It can't eat roast beef without teeth! I tried! I put my lips like this –!" The sight of lips over gums _was_ rather amusing. "I couldn't do it! I tried to eat the beef sandwich with my feet, too, but they can't reach that far! The beef fell out. So I brushed my feet, 'cause you do that when you eat!"

"No, you brush your _teeth_ when you -!" Benjamin sighed and shook his head. "Look, it should just be me and you, your father and grandfather are both at work. I'm too fu-! I'm too tired right now for games, Richard. Can we _please_ just sit quietly and –?"

"They're not both at work! They're both here! They're here!"

"Grandpa Foggy left this morning, Richard. I –"

"Not Grandpa Foggy! Grandpa Wade!"

Benjamin stumbled backwards. He fell onto the bottom step, where he held tightly onto April for some form of emotional support, although she only grumbled in response and pushed at him with her tiny fists. There – there was no way that his dad would be home, especially not during the day like this, as he was still _mourning_ the loss of Peter and strove to be as unseen as possible, and – in a way – it was almost like losing both parents. April felt so warm and fragile in his hands, enough that he couldn't envision ever leaving her for any reason . . .

"W-why don't – why don't you lead the way?"

It was then that Richard perked up, although even his smile couldn't lift Benjamin's mood. He kept thinking how he wasn't _dressed_ to receive a guest, as he wore only an old shirt of Normie's and a pair of sleep-shorts, and even April was still in her nightclothes and somewhat grumpy as she tended to be in the mornings. Then again . . . Wade wasn't a 'guest', was he? He was Benjamin's _dad_ and Richard's _granddad_. Still, five years was such a long time and what if Wade was disappointed in the changes in him?

Richard gave a rather adorable salute, before he turned and walked in a mock-march through the living room to the kitchen, where he eventually got bored and ran inside instead. It was enough to make Benjamin sigh and shake his head, but then he heard something . . . he heard his son yell out in laughter, followed by a rough laugh that sounded all too familiar . . . one that was uttered from scarred vocal chords and an equally scarred past. It brought back memories of Benjamin's childhood, as well as memories of his father and the day he lost Peter to the cancer . . . he needed Wade _so much_ at the time, but Wade just couldn't cope . . . there was no way that Wade would just appear so randomly, was there?

He followed his son into the kitchen. The first thing he saw was Normie standing against the kitchen island in his dressing gown, who nursed a steaming cup of coffee with a stern gaze, and – as Benjamin took another step – he looked up and appeared almost apologetic, before his eyes turned to look at something to Benjamin's far right. It took all of Benjamin's strength to follow his look, where he saw the one person he least expected to see: _Wade_.

"Pops?" Benjamin whispered.

It was then that Wade looked over to him. The older man was dressed in an old pair of jeans with a hooded top, but he was also wearing one of Peter's shirts and Peter's belt, and there was also a scent that reminded him of his father's cologne. Richard sat on Wade's lap, where he waved his favourite plush dinosaur in front of his grandfather with loud 'roar' sounds, but – in the surreal moment between them – Wade seemed almost oblivious to it, until he actually lifted Richard up and put him down on the floor. Benjamin felt his heart race.

"P-Pops? Is that – is that you?"

"Er, hey there, Benji Boy!"

Wade stood up, whilst Richard whined and started to hit his legs with the toy. It wasn't enough to get Wade's attention, as his brown eyes were transfixed upon Benjamin and April, and – out of sheer instinct – Benjamin walked slowly over to his dad . . . each step becoming faster and faster . . . he was running before he knew it. He felt strong arms around him, which were just as muscled and toned as he remembered, and he felt so _safe_ being held like that by the man that raised him and taught him and trained him . . .

He – he was crying! He couldn't help it! He couldn't help the tears that raced down his cheeks, even as he felt Normie slide beside them to take April from his arms and gently guide Richard away, and suddenly he felt his hands gripping Wade's top and holding on for dear life, so _frightened_ that his dad might leave him again. There were some mumbled complaints from his son, but he barely heard them . . . he could only hear his choked sobs and the sound of his heart racing, and suddenly he could hear a broken sort of laughter that came from his throat and yet sounded alien to him. Wade patted him on his back with soft sounds of comfort, but that only made it so much worse. It – it wasn't _fair_!

"You look so different, Benji!"

"I'm twenty- _fucking_ -two!" Benjamin snapped. "Of course I look different!"

"Yeah, I know, but it's so weird!" Wade kissed the top of his messy head of hair. "I saw May and Ellie before I came here, but they barely look a day older than when I left! You're all mature and grown and -! You know May _hit_ me when she saw me? I so -! _Hey! Hey, stop_!"

Benjamin didn't even realise he was hitting Wade, not until he heard Richard cry a little and felt Wade's hands wrapped tightly around his wrists. He fought against his dad to try and get in a few hits, but Wade held tight and wouldn't let him go, despite sporting a split lip and probably a few good bruises on his chest, and suddenly Benjamin simply _fell_. He fell limp until the only thing holding him up _was_ Wade. It was then he felt himself guided into a nearby chair and felt Wade kneel on the floor next to him, as he wiped away his son's tears.

" _Where the fuck were you?_ " Benjamin screamed.

"Around," said Wade. "Say, should you swear in front of the kid? Petey –!"

"I don't give a flying _fuck_ what Dad would have said! I needed you! _I needed you!_ The only time I could ever find you was at the grave or – or – or through stories Richard told or from the gifts you left -! I didn't _need_ gifts! I needed _you_! You're my dad, Pops! You were -!"

"I know, I know! I did a shitty thing, all right? It was what your dad was always scared of happening . . . I promised him I'd be there for you kids, even if the worst happened, but I failed him! I just couldn't fucking face you! I _still_ can't walk in that house! I had to meet the girls over at Preston's place! I look at you and I see Petey, just like when I walk into that house I keep calling out for Petey . . . I keep forgetting he ain't around. Everything reminds me of Petey, but every time it does then it's like losing him all fucking again!"

"I would ask you not to curse before my children," said Normie coldly. "You have already exhibited a dubious influence on my son, but I would ask that your nocturnal visits cease and you clean your language around him. I would also ask whether you are able to _commit_ to being in Benjamin's life, as he already suffered your abandonment once already."

"You fucking swallow a thesaurus? I never abandoned anyone either!"

"Oh? Pray tell, where _were_ you these past few years?"

Wade's expression turned dark. It was enough to make Benjamin swallow hard and look over to his fiancé, because he _knew_ that look and he _knew_ it was one to be careful around, as Wade – despite turning away from crime – never shook his violent edge. He would defend his family to the death, but he would also _never_ allow any insult against them or a slight on his love for them. Normie stood not far away, with Richard holding his right hand and April balanced in his left arm, and he looked incredibly handsome despite not yet being dressed, but – in a way – the dark dressing gown only made him look all the more irresistible . . .

"Hey, least I never _beat_ Benji," snapped Wade.

It was then that Benjamin gave a groan of frustration, whilst he saw his son run over to them and climb back up onto Wade's lap. Wade's hands unclenched at once and came around Richard's body, where he pulled him into a loose hug, so that the younger boy's back was flush against his grandfather's chest and his legs rested on Wade's in turn . . . it made Benjamin smile despite himself, as he remembered sitting that exact same way with his dad growing up. Still, he did _not_ want Richard ever learning about their troubled pasts.

"Pops, not in front of Richard, okay?"

Richard was oddly quiet with Wade; it was possible he sensed this was a serious discussion, although it was more likely that he behaved because he was in the presence of his other father, and Normie seemed to have a control over their son that everyone else lacked. It was then that Normie came around and sat on a wooden chair beside Benjamin at the table, opposite Wade, and Wade – seeing his granddaughter in Normie's arms – smiled sadly.

"Fine, I'll be good," said Wade. "Only 'cause _you_ asked."

"N-Normie's right, though," whispered Benjamin. "Are you here to stay? We – we have plenty of room for you, but if you want t-to just visit that's fine! Just don't leave me again, Pops . . . please . . . I _need_ you. Where – where _were_ you all this time?"

"Grandpa Wade was here!" Richard chirped. "Weren't you, Grandpa? He told me bedtime stories about Grandpa Petey and – and – and – and he played games and sang songs! He has a silly voice, though, so his singing was funny! He's been the best grandpa ever! I saw photos of you, too! You were in a special box and had wires on you and there was Uncle Bruce and you were smaller than April! I never knew you were a baby once, too!"

Wade laughed loudly and ruffled Richard's hair, which made the young boy give a bright smile and lean back against his grandfather, but there was a slight edge to Wade's expression that showed he wasn't entirely happy . . . he was in pain. The loss of Peter affected them all in one way or another, but to Wade it appeared to completely change him, and it was understandable why. Peter swore to _never_ leave Wade. Peter was the only person to love him unconditionally. Peter was never meant to leave them, least of all to cancer . . .

"I'm sorry, kiddo," said Wade. "I've been around though, I swear!"

"Just promise me you won't go anywhere?" Benjamin asked. "Not now. I _need_ you."

"I was going to, but I figured out we can finally be a family again! I couldn't face you without Petey around, because Petey was my anchor and made sure that I was a good father! I was scared to do it without him. Never felt that afraid since I found out he was pregnant! I didn't want to ruin your life or make you sadder . . . plus, I've been a bit out of it. My brain went all like mushy cereal! I couldn't cope! I'm much better now, though!"

"T-that's good, right? I always knew you had issues, Pops, but you were an _amazing_ father! It wasn't Dad that made you check in on me or spend time with me, it was _you_ that chose to do that, just like it was _you_ that tried to teach me to love myself and be _proud_ of my art. You're a good man and you always were . . . I'm just sad it took you all this long to see it."

"You kidding? I didn't see shit! Well, I saw something, but it wasn't all soul-searching like you think! Nah! I saw Petey! Like I _saw_ him saw him! I _told_ you he was alive! Just because we buried him don't mean he's dead! I even got photos for proof! My Petey's back!"

"Do – do I need to call Steve or someone? Dad's dead, Pops. He's gone."

"Yeah, he may well have been, but he's back now!"

Benjamin glanced to his fiancé beside him. It was difficult to process that he finally had his dad back, but it was even more so to realise that Wade was still grieving and still not all quite there, and he felt put into an awkward predicament. There was no way that Normie would want their children around Wade, especially if his dad was hearing voices or hallucinating again, but there was also no way that Benjamin could keep his children away from the _one_ person in his life growing up that -! Wade was his _dad_! He _needed_ Wade!

"He's – er – back?"

It was best to play along, especially as Wade deserved his respect. There was no way that he would ever want his loved ones to automatically dismiss him, so there was no way that he could do the same thing to his dad, and so he tried to keep an open mind. He looked briefly to Normie again, where April slept against his chest and chewed lazily on his small fist, and it was hard not to give a small smile, as he reached out and stroked a lock of brown hair from her pale face. The idea of her growing up without Peter was hard to accept, but he _needed_ to face the truth . . . to believe – even for a second – Peter could still be alive somehow -?

"I couldn't lose him again," whispered Benjamin.

"You don't have to, kiddo!" Wade bounced Richard high and gave a smile. "I wouldn't have told you, if I weren't totally certain! I can prove it, too! It ain't like I would have come here without any proof! Look! See! It's right here! Take a look!"

"All I can see is a ring and dirt," said Normie coldly.

"Yeah, well, _you would_ , dick-cheese!"

Benjamin bit his lip, unsure whether to glare at his father or his fiancé. The way that Normie gripped April's yellow nightshirt made it clear he felt furious, which was understandable when Wade's news played with the emotions of all involved, but – as unacceptable as Wade's insult was against the younger man – there was no reason for Normie to act so dismissively towards him, either. Wade spent his life being ignored by others, even when he spoke the most sense . . . the dismissal of Normie likely hit him hard.

Still, Normie was _right_. The way Wade held out his hands revealed nothing, except a _lot_ of dirt and mud under his nails and upon his skin, and there was a rather grimy looking ring on his right ring-finger. It was curious . . . familiar even . . . it was enough to make Benjamin ignore his son for a moment, who decided to try and pull himself up using those same forearms, before he put all his weight upon them in a game to try and make them go down. Wade was too strong for it to work, but at least it occupied Richard. The ring captured Benjamin's attention, until he realised _why_ it looked so familiar . . . it belonged to Peter. It was his _father's_ ring! It looked identical to Wade's, down to the last detail!

"W-where did you get that, Pops?"

"What is it?" Normie asked, as he rocked April.

"It's – it's my father's wedding ring. He was buried with it . . . I – I remember, because we – we – we placed it on a chain and put it into a – a small box. It was meant to be like a treasure box, you know? We all put one item in it that would mean something to him . . ."

"Right!" Wade chirped. "Don't worry, I put the box back in the house! I figured Petey would want it at some point! That leg of his wasn't in there, though, but I guess it's hard to walk without it, right? I don't know . . . kind of expected it to have grown back . . . if Petey's back why can't his leg be back, too? _Hey, don't look at me like that!_ I don't just go digging up bodies! Well . . . _often_. I already knew he was alive, I just wanted proof!"

The air in the kitchen suddenly felt rather cold. It was almost as if the wind were knocked out of him, as he looked with unfocused eyes to the ring, and a chilling realisation came over him about what his dad just did and admitted to having done. The reaction of Normie was almost immediate; he slid April back into Benjamin's arms, where she murmured with discomfort at being moved, and came around to pick Richard off from Wade's lap. It was upsetting to hear the young boy whine and reach back out for his grandfather, but Normie likely saw Wade as too dangerous to hold his child . . . he moved back to his seat and sat Richard on his lap.

"There a reason you took Richie away?" Wade asked.

"You can hold him again soon," promised Benjamin. "Just -! You _dug_ up the grave?"

"What was I supposed to do, kiddo? I kept seeing him _everywhere_! I thought it was Cable doing some weird shit to my brain again, but I had Strange look me over and everything! Preston was all: 'ooh, you need to like totally see a shrink'! Bah! Like hell will I see another doctor for any reason except a legit hit! Well . . . excluding Ellie, you know? She doesn't count, though, because she's like an awesome doctor! The exception to the rule!"

"O-okay, well . . . you've always been honest with me, Pops, so I – I want to be honest with you, too. I'm worried . . . I want to believe you, especially because you'd _never_ lie to me, but I _found_ Dad's body and I was _there_ when they buried him! I can't explain why he wouldn't be in the grave, but then I can't explain why he'd be alive, so I – I don't know . . ."

"I got a theory! It's the healing factor!" Wade leaned forward and gesticulated wildly. "You don't remember, because you were probably the size of a bean and swimming in womb-juice, but your dad had a _ton_ of issues with your pregnancy! We nearly lost you at one point! I fed him slithers of my skin, to jump-start his healing factor! I did it again at a few other points! It's possible that it made his healing factor even better! Got to have hope, right? Plus Brucey and Tony and Normie gave him that serum of theirs, too!"

"That serum _didn't_ _work_ ," said Normie quietly. "We tried everything to try and rid Peter of his cancer, but our shared research was not enough. There were many tests ran and not _one_ of them showed any signs of your kind of healing factor . . . not enough to survive cancer."

"Hey! Mine didn't work either at first! Had to die to kick-start it!"

"But . . . why wouldn't he come home?" Benjamin asked.

"Maybe it messed with his head, too?"

It was a real concern. There was the possibility – if Wade was right – that some sort of damage was done to his mind, maybe even his memory, and that was perhaps the worst thing to imagine. They lost Peter once already, but to lose him again -? It somehow felt worse to know that his father was out there, but unable to be a part of their lives . . . they weren't exactly raised religiously, but at least Peter would have _remembered_ them on some other plane, but to be alive and forget -? What if he just didn't _care_?

They sat in awkward silence for a long moment, until April let out a low cry. It stole Benjamin's attention, enough that he began to bounce her and sing lowly to her, and he realised that he would _never_ be able to leave her. The very scent of her baby shampoo, the way her skin felt so soft, even the way she would grasp over and over at his clothes until they crinkled and creased . . . he would remember _every_ part of her until the day he died. It was such an unconditional love, so that the very idea of forgetting her or living without her felt unbearable beyond measure. This was his daughter . . . his _life_ . . . if Peter were alive, did he even know what he was missing out on? Did he even care?

He cast a quick glance to Normie at his right, but his fiancé seemed to have his hands full with their son. Richard was struggling against him, uncharacteristically naughty for the one person he usually behaved perfectly towards, and he seemed so _adamant_ that he would get back over to Wade and play with his grandfather. It took all of Normie's strength to hold him in place, which only worried Benjamin slightly; in a few years – with his enhanced strength – Richard would be stronger than his parent by a considerable amount. He would be harder to control and harder to protect. Normie gave a sigh and spoke from over Richard's head:

"We still don't have proof he's alive."

The look that Wade shot Normie was frightening. It seemed that the brown of his eyes was sharper than ever, whilst his eyes narrowed into dangerous slits, and he thumped the table hard enough that the leftover plates from Richard's breakfast rattled. April let out a loud cry, much more sensitive to noise than her brother, but Wade had at least the decency to look embarrassed at his outburst. Normie merely held their son tighter than ever, whilst Richard looked around in confusion. The young boy swung his legs out in a bored rhythm.

"I _knew_ you'd say something like that!" Wade snapped.

"Then you would know to bring _evidence_ of such a claim."

"Yeah, well, I totally did! Here! Take a look and go suck eggs!"

Wade reached inside the pocket to his hooded top. He wrenched out a selection of papers, which – from moisture and careless storage – were permanently bent, and there were strange stains over some of the papers that Benjamin couldn't decipher. Normie let Richard go, who at once slid under the table and reappeared on Wade's lap, and suddenly Normie examined the many papers on the table, even as Benjamin looked curiously over his shoulder. There were photographs and reports and receipts, things that were hard to make sense of . . .

"What is all of this?" Benjamin asked.

"It's evidence," replied Normie. "It looks quite legitimate. There's a confidential S.H.I.E.L.D. report that says someone accessed files on 'Peter Parker', using Peter's account, whilst the rest are detailed itineraries of the movements of the person in those photographs . . . the places he visits _are_ places Peter would visit, but more importantly -? There's no denying these _look_ like Peter, but it is easy enough to find a double, whether by intent or chance."

"They – they – they look recent, though! I mean . . . did – didn't that Mexican restaurant only open a few weeks ago? Richard and I – er – may have had a lunch there, although it's not a regular thing! I know what a stickler you are for healthy eating! Still, there's no way that could be anyone but my . . . my father . . . he . . . _that - that's a prosthetic leg_!"

"You cannot believe any of this, Benji. It's clearly –"

"You can't _fake_ an amputated leg, Normie!"

Benjamin leaned forward as much as he could, whilst he adjusted the baby in his arms carefully so as not to disturb her. The man in the photograph was sitting not far from the _Bugle_ in a public park, where he apparently sat with a hotdog watching a yoga class, and the cuffs of his trousers were hitched up just enough to reveal a prosthetic leg. He sat in such an awkward way, too, as he hunched his back and rested his arm at an odd angle on his knee, and he wore messy hair that looked just like Benjamin's. It was uncanny.

He let a hand reach out to touch the gloss of the paper. The Mexican restaurant was clear in the shot, not to mention the paper next to the man featured a recent article about Spider-Girl, and there was no missing that this was taken only in the past few weeks. Benjamin felt his heart race in his chest; he _wanted_ to believe, but he didn't want to lose Peter again! If he let himself believe in this dream, what would happen should it turn out to _be_ just a dream? He could see his father so clearly on the photograph, but how had no one spotted him before now? Why was it that no one found any traces of him? How did he hide for these years?

"Why wouldn't he come home?" Benjamin asked.

"We still don't know that's him," said Normie softly. "You buried him. We have the _death certificate_! I cannot explain why someone is around that looks like him to such a detail, but if someone had access to S.H.I.E.L.D. files and enough technology –"

"What?" Wade spat. "They could clone him or somethin'? No one's _that_ shoddy a writer!"

"I did not intend to suggest anything so ludicrous, but there must be an explanation."

"Yeah! Petey's alive and we can all be a family again!"

Benjamin pulled the photo closer towards him; Richard tried to pull at some of the papers in turn, evidently bored with everything that was going on, and Wade – with great flourish and a loud laugh – handed him a crayon from God knew where, before he told him to 'go nuts'. It took only a few minutes for one of the reports to be _covered_ in pictures of turtles, sharks and what looked disturbingly like a hybrid of both. Benjamin gave a sigh, whilst Normie placed a hand on his chin and turned his head to look at him. It was clear his fiancé was worried.

"What do you think, Benjamin?" Normie asked.

"I think he's right . . . it's a possibility."

The resemblance was simply too uncanny, plus it was too much of a coincidence that this man would visit the _exact_ places that Peter once frequented, and that wasn't too mention the empty grave and his father's healing factor . . . it may have been possible that Wade's skin and the attempt at a serum enhanced what he had, but is that what happened? Why wouldn't he have returned home, either? Still, Benjamin couldn't deny:

"My father could be alive."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"Shouldn't Pops be doing this?"

May lifted her hand to shield her eyes. It made her look somehow a lot younger than her years; she almost appeared like a schoolgirl looking for a parent, rather than a college student investigating a strange occurrence. The youthful appearance was only highlighted by her latest shoulder-length hairstyle, completed with her red jacket and black shirt, whilst her jeans hung so low that Peter probably wouldn't have let her leave the house if . . . well . . . he were still around. She looked a little flushed in the face, too, perhaps from the cold.

It was admittedly rather chilly, enough that Benjamin was rather happy for the pizza slice. There was nothing better than something hot to hold on a cold day, especially when it kept his hands busy and distracted him from the anxiety he felt, and yet it was difficult to enjoy the damned thing when he felt so _fixated_ with the building opposite them. They chose a bench to sit and watch the Mexican restaurant, which was just across the road and covered by the trees of the park, and – so far – the man that looked like Peter was yet to come outside, although they could see through the windows that he ordered a lot. Did Peter always have a big appetite? Benjamin couldn't remember him ordering that much usually.

"Preston thought it best that we look into it _before_ S.H.I.E.L.D.," said Benjamin.

"Aw, come on! Don't play that game, Benji! I asked why _Pops_ wasn't here, not S.H.I.E.L.D.! I already _know_ why we didn't contact them first; I mean . . . no one likes to be poked and prodded, do they? If that is Dad in there, I can get why it'd be better for us to see what's up before they start running tests and investigations, but it still feels _weird_. We're family, right? It seems like Pops ought to be here instead of us."

Benjamin gave a sigh, as he threw the crust and paper into a bin beside him. The sky above looked like it was threatening rain, whilst the wind began to pick up, and the locals around were already beginning to find shelter or distract themselves indoors rather than out. It wasn't that the streets were empty _per se_ , but it was quiet enough that they stood out regardless of how casual they tried to dress. Wade would have stood out like a sore thumb, which wasn't to mention how he _really_ wasn't cut out for the types of jobs involving _patience_.

"It took _all_ our effort to stop Pops running out there and _kidnapping_ the guy!" Benjamin said in a loud voice. "He said – and I quote – that: 'Petey will be fine once he gets home'! Normie and Ellie both have work today, so we convinced him to baby-sit with Wes and Jeff. Preston's investigating from the S.H.I.E.L.D. end of things, but we figured it would be better for us to do the whole following him thing. Did you even _listen_ to us earlier?"

"Of course, I did! You can't blame me for being a _little_ distracted, though! I just found out earlier that day that my father could still be alive, whilst my brother and sister railroaded me in the evening to tell me that we needed to _find_ him and see what's up. It's not my fault."

"You know what Pops would call you right now?"

"No, what is it?" May asked curiously.

"A walking expositional device."

May spat out her tongue childishly. It made him smile to see it, before he shook his head and wiped his hands across his jeans to cleanse them of the grease. He tried to ignore the way his phone buzzed in his pocket, as he knew that it was only his dad calling to check in for the thousandth time in a row, and so he looked away from his sister to the restaurant opposite. The resemblance that the man held to his father was uncanny; if he didn't _know_ that Peter was dead, he wouldn't have held any doubt that this was the man that bore him.

They followed him to the same places that his father used to frequent, too, but _no one_ that knew Peter could recall seeing him _anywhere_ since his death. He wasn't visiting the _Bugle_ to work or to visit MJ, that much was for sure, and he wasn't using his real name in any of the restaurants or places that he visited. Whoever this man was . . . he needed money, didn't he? Benjamin inherited everything, along with his two sisters in equal measure, and so it wasn't as if Peter could dip into any bank accounts or secret savings . . . maybe he worked from home? Then again . . . where _was_ home to this man? Benjamin felt his heart ache.

"Hey, time to get moving," said May.

He was shook himself from his daze. It was easier than he thought to lose concentration, especially when he _needed_ his father in his life and _missed_ him so much, and the idea of getting his hopes up felt terrifying beyond all measure. Still, they needed answers and closure, especially Wade, and yet . . . would Wade leave should it turn out that Peter _was_ gone and that this was someone _else_? It didn't bear thinking about. Benjamin forced a broken smile and tried to slow his breathing, as he watched 'Peter' leave the restaurant.

It was hard to control himself. His legs refused to move. He – he wanted to run and hide, not chase after someone that may just dash all his hopes to pieces! If he hid away, he could pretend that everything was okay . . . it – it was too much to think that Peter could come back to them, especially so easily! May didn't let him think too hard on it. He at once felt strong hands around his wrists, as he was dragged to his feet and found himself pulled rapidly across the road to follow their 'father'. There was a hoot of a car horn, whilst a driver skidded to an abrupt halt and swore out his window, but he barely heard it over his beating heart.

They followed the man quickly, as they took every turn that he did, but soon he appeared to be taking more and more corners . . . he was getting further and further away . . . it left Benjamin feeling dizzy and disorientated. It felt as if his dream of finding his father was escaping with every step of that man, until he rolled up his sleeves and prepared to web the man on the very first chance he got, but – as they turned into an alleyway – they found themselves at a dead end. There was no one in sight.

"W-where did he go?" Benjamin asked.

The alleyway was enclosed and left him feeling claustrophobic, as the tall brick walls towered above them on either side, and the fire-escapes and many dumpsters left a somewhat creepy atmosphere about the place, and he couldn't hear anything except his panted breaths and May's footsteps. There was a dank and rancid smell from nearby, whilst a vent hissed from above him and made him jump to his left. The wall was damp against his bare arms and made him wince in disgust. No one could just _vanish_ , could they?

It was then that he saw May turn and look at him. She stood with hands in her pockets, but her legs were apart and bent, as if she were preparing for a jump or a run, and her blue eyes were narrowed on a spot not too far from Benjamin's head. He swallowed hard nervously, before he realised that he was standing in shadow. No – no one would be above him, would they? Peter _could_ climb walls, though, just like May could . . . still, Peter was dead and this _couldn't_ be him, so . . . what was above him? It took all his energy and bravery to turn his head upwards, but whatever was up there spotted his movement . . . at once he heard and felt someone jump down behind him. He span around and stumbled back towards May.

"Why are you two squirts following me?"

"D-Dad? Is that – is that you?"

The man looked _exactly_ like Peter. He was clearly middle-aged, where he looked not too much older than how Wade appeared, and there was even the streak of grey in the _exact_ place that Benjamin remembered it being in his hair. The blue eyes and the messy locks of brown hair couldn't be mistaken as anyone other than his father's, and – if all else failed to note him as the original Spider-Man – he clearly had a prosthetic leg beneath his trouser leg. He stood in an awkward and hunched pose, much like the father he knew and remembered.

"Don't make me ask twice," said Peter. "Why are you following me?"

"You – er – I – that is – I thought -!" Benjamin swallowed hard. "You look just like -!"

"Your dad? I kind of guessed that already." Peter gave a long sigh. "Look, I don't know who you two think you are, but you _can't_ just follow people around like that! Don't they teach responsibility anymore? What if I were some sort of super-villain? You could have been killed or worse! This is New York . . . it's hardly a safe place at the best of times, but even less so when you go _looking_ for trouble. I have half a mind to call your parents!"

"Er, I – I wouldn't do that, if I were you . . . it'd probably be better that we talk first, at least _before_ you see Pops. He's a little – ah – easily excitable . . . best to kind of meet him knowing what to expect . . . unless you – you remember him? His – his name's Wade."

"In a city of eight million people, you _might_ want to narrow it down."

"I didn't think I'd need to narrow it down . . ."

The weight in Benjamin's chest increased. It was almost like a physical blow to his stomach, one that reminded him briefly of the birth of April, only there wasn't anything to look forward to from this pain . . . there was no guarantee the pain would be temporary . . . no promise that it would lead to better things. This man was clearly his father, even down to the need for them to be responsible and his speech patterns, but he couldn't even remember _Wade_! How was it that he could forget the one person that loved him so unconditionally?

It hurt even worse that those blue eyes could gaze on them without even the slightest recognition, so that he couldn't even tell his children apart from a stranger, and Benjamin – even knowing it wasn't his father's fault – felt a huge sense of rejection and abandonment. He was so close to his father . . . enough to touch him and hug him . . . he remembered every argument between them, every cold word, and he remembered how _every damned day_ since Peter's death that he _prayed_ for a second-chance like this. He was desperate to apologise, desperate to tell Peter how much he loved him, and instead there was an awkward silence and a horrible fear that this may be it. This fate worse than death . . .

"How much do you remember?" May asked.

Peter turned to look at May, where he knitted his eyebrows together in concentration. It made Benjamin's heart jump in hope that maybe – just _maybe_ – he recognised something in her face, especially as she took so much after Peter in her looks, and if he could remember May then he would remember everyone else . . . he _needed_ to hope for the best. Peter folded his arms and appeared to chew on his lip, as he looked her over slowly and carefully, and eventually he took a step backwards to the entrance of the alleyway. Did – did he plan on running? If he left now, they might never find him again!

Luckily, Peter only looked around and shook his head. He likely was making sure that his escape route was open and that this wasn't a distraction of sorts, and – free from an ambush – he let out a long breath and scratched the back of his neck. It was so strange to see his father acting like this . . . so – so confident and alert and -! He was almost like how Spider-Man used to be, rather than Peter Parker, and Benjamin was _terrified_ of losing him again, so scared of being alone again . . . he felt his eyes water and his breath leave him.

"I'm not sure what you mean," said Peter firmly.

"You don't remember everything, right?" May asked. "That's fine! It's been five years since we lost you, so I guess it's natural you'd have forgotten _something_ , else you'd probably have come straight home! Look, I'm May this is Benjamin, we're . . . relatives."

"How do you -? How do you _know_ I've -?"

Peter reached up to his head and gripped his hair, much in a way that Benjamin himself did when he felt frustrated or needed to ground himself, and he saw the way that Peter shot his glances nervously between the two of them. It was enough to make Benjamin swallow hard and force himself to breathe deeply, as he strove to force back the tears that gathered around his eyes. He – he could see traces of his father in this man, but – at the same time – this man before them didn't recognise them, didn't _know_ them . . . couldn't love them.

"Yeah, I – er – lost some memories," admitted Peter.

"W-w-what – what do – what do you remember?" Benjamin asked.

"I remember my childhood. I remember some bad things that happened, enough that I stopped visiting the library alone, and I remember some good things that happened too, like how my uncle and aunt taught me so much about life. Everything starts to get vague around the time I started high school . . . I remember a fight with a man with a scarred face, something about a woman falling from a bridge, a baby crying at night . . .

"They're just flashes of images . . . like fleeting dreams . . . it gets more and more vague the older I seem to get, so that I can't remember anything from just before I woke up in that grave . . . the last real memory I have is someone saying: 'it ain't terminal, you ain't gonna die'. It's the same voice I hear when I dream sometimes, only I can never really remember what the dreams are _about_ , only this voice . . . kind of gravely and with a strange echo to it, hard to explain . . . I always feel so guilty when I hear it. I think – I think it's someone I knew well or someone who loved me, and I feel so safe when I hear them speak . . ."

"That sounds like Pops!" May chirped. "Hey, if it's okay to ask, why do you keep hanging around places like the _Bugle_? You weren't even _working_ there when you . . . left us. Do you have memories of there or something? What about the Mexican place? Do you like Mexican food? I always thought you ate it just because Pops ate it."

"I – I don't _know_ , okay? All I know is that the park reminds me of my aunt, whilst the _Bugle_ reminds me of MJ . . . she always had big dreams of working there growing up . . . I can't explain the Mexican food, but it just kind of feels like 'home'. It just feels _right_."

"If – if we asked you to come with us -?" Benjamin asked. "Would you?"

"You can trust us," said May. "I can prove it! Wait!"

May slipped her hand into her pocket. He watched her curiously, until she removed her phone and began to swipe at the screen. It was then he realised exactly what she was doing, as at once he saw a selection of photographs race by with every touch of her finger, and – eventually – she paused on a shot taken by Benjamin over breakfast some years ago. The photograph was a rather beautiful one, as well as one of the very few taken of Wade, and it was hard not to feel a spark of grief at the memory of his family.

He could remember exactly when it was taken, somewhere around the time that he turned sixteen, and May was clearly visible in the background . . . she was laughing at the expression on Benjamin's face, which could be made out on the reflection of a mirror beside her. Peter was attempting to wash up in the sink, whilst Wade crept up behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist, and Peter – surprised by the sudden hug – spun around as best as he could, although he was prevented from criticising his husband with a lazy kiss to his lips. Eventually the two began to laugh, which was when Benjamin took the photograph, because there was just something so beautiful at how natural and in love they looked.

"That looks like . . . me," whispered Peter.

"It is you," replied Benjamin. "It's _you_ , Dad. It's you."

Peter looked between Benjamin and the photo, where the confusion made his face pale considerably and his lips turn white, until he seemed unable to face the reality that they _knew_ one another and knew him better than he knew himself. He thrust the phone back at May, before he turned and fell back against the dirty wall behind him. It was weird seeing their father look so vulnerable and even a little fragile, because he was the one to always be strong for _them_ , but this wasn't there father . . . not really . . . not without memories . . .

"You're Peter Benjamin Parker," said May. "You –"

"I know who I am," replied Peter, "I just didn't know I had a _boyfriend_ or _children_."

"What – what happened to you, Dad?" Benjamin asked.

There was a heavy sigh from Peter, who looked at them in turn. He let his hands fall to his sides, where he rested his fingertips against the brick behind him and appeared to scratch at it, almost like a nervous tic of sorts. Benjamin watched him as he turned his head to watch the quiet streets beyond . . . streets he once patrolled and kept safe . . . it felt almost like a betrayal when Peter knew these streets so well. He was so _close_ to his family, but kept out of sight and stayed out of the way! What if -? What if he just didn't love them enough to keep those memories? What if he _wanted_ to forget? Benjamin felt his eyes water.

"You were _dead_. We _buried_ you!"

"I – I don't know," admitted Peter. "I woke up and it was dark . . . I felt light-headed and dizzy . . . couldn't remember how I got there. I don't _think_ I'm a claustrophobic person, but I couldn't move and I panicked. I struggled and fought; luckily, I seem stronger than most, which is weird in itself . . . I remember being a pretty scrawny kid. I started to choke on dirt and soil, before I eventually pulled my way out . . . I was in a grave. I was in a darned _grave_!

"I don't know how I got there . . . I don't know how I survived . . . I just know that I had powers that I didn't know I had, so that I could climb walls and detect danger . . . I was pretty confused. The gravestone said 'Peter Parker', so I borrowed a computer in the library to look up what I could . . . I – I could remember – I could remember how to get into a S.H.I.E.L.D. account, which was weird when I couldn't even remember what S.H.I.E.L.D. _was_ , and I searched for 'Peter Parker'. I got far enough to work out that I was now middle-aged and they seemed to think I was someone called 'Spider-Man', but then I had to run . . .

"I guess someone was tracking the connection. It wasn't long before I saw some agents come inside, so I snuck out and made a run for it . . . wasn't sure if they were friend or foe . . . I was scared that I went rogue and they were after me, maybe I was their enemy for some reason, so I decided to lay low. I've found a cheap apartment nearby . . . I decided to work from home for the _Bugle;_ I send them photos, they send me a cheque. It's a cosy arrangement. I've tried to hide away as much as I can . . . used an alias."

Benjamin collapsed back against the wall opposite Peter. He felt a heavy emotion that he couldn't quite identify, whilst his eyes became unfocussed and his chest felt compressed, and all he could think about was how his father was _so close_ all this time! It – it was difficult to believe and impossible to process. It was as if his mind shut down, like a deer in the headlights, and every thought seemed to come to a crashing halt, so that he couldn't think of what to do or say or feel . . . luckily, May seemed to still be functioning. He could see his sister from the corner of his eye between them, where she began to fidget slightly.

"Didn't you ever wonder who you were?" May asked.

There was an almost imperceptible shrug from their father, who ran a hand over his face and neck, as if he were trying to wake himself from a bad dream. He appeared to be taking this better than Benjamin anticipated, but he looked so pale and grey . . . older than his years . . . it was clear that he struggled to process this just as much as they did, but perhaps the scattered memories that he seemed to have helped somewhat. Benjamin lowered his gaze and realised that he was still dressed smartly in a suit, just how he remembered his father . . .

"I wondered every day," said Peter.

"So – so why didn't – why didn't you look for us?"

"I didn't even know you _existed_! I had no idea I even _had_ a family!" Peter looked up at the sky sadly with a broken smile. "I found out that my aunt passed away, so I figured that my entire family was gone . . . I've never felt so alone! I was too scared to go back and check my files, just in case they were after me or I'd done something wrong, and I don't have any memories of children . . . not really . . . not enough that I thought you could be _mine_."

"What _do_ you remember about us?" May asked. "I've got more photos, in case you don't believe us! There's loads of us as babies, but they're in frames and albums at home, so I can't show you them here. Don't you remember _anything_? There has to be something."

"I remember a baby in an incubator. Er, I can remember a girl a lot darker than you both, just as I can remember her signing to – to – well, _him_ , I guess. You're kind of blurred in my mind . . . Benjamin, is it? I think it was you she signed at. I can remember a young girl feeding the ducks, too, not far from here . . . who – who's your mother? What happened to her?"

Benjamin looked to May sheepishly. She looked at him back and shared the same feeling, which was one of both dread and sorrow. The fact that Peter forgot _carrying_ them, _birthing_ them, and _raising_ them -? It was like a waking nightmare. They couldn't blame him, not when it wasn't his fault, but then he wasn't _born_ a mutant like they were . . . he carried the genes, yes, but his mutation came about from a spider bite. The idea that he could have become impregnated may have been too much for him to understand, all things considered.

"Our mother?" May asked.

"Yeah, that photo you showed me . . . I'm – I'm with – I'm with a guy," replied Peter with a deep blush. "We couldn't have adopted you, because you look _so much_ like my side of the family. Did she die? Did we break up? I hope it wasn't anything bad."

It was painful to see May's face fall. May was only a couple years his junior, so she was old enough to date and go to college and to work part-time, but . . . neither of them expected anything like this. It felt as if – in that dark and dank alleyway – they were parenting the _parent_ , as they strove to try and explain to him who he was and what he meant to them. There was never a time when either of them imagined anything like this, where their father would be with them physically but not emotionally, and it was a lot for May to deal with . . .

Benjamin wanted to take the burden from her, because she was his younger sister and swore to always protect her, but he couldn't protect her from something like this. They would need to work through this together as a _family_. It wasn't fair that she went through this, even less so to leave the explanations to her, but – when he looked at Peter – he saw someone . . . _younger_ than his father. How could he explain to a stranger that the two of them came from _Peter's_ body, as well as that – yes – Peter _was_ capable of such a thing, and how long would it take to factor in how Ellie was adopted as Peter's own? How long would it take to explain how Wade was so perfect for him, despite all the seeming differences?

"It's a long story," said May nervously.

"I have time," replied Peter. "It's been so _lonely_ the past few years. I was terrified to so much as leave my home, just in case someone spotted me or followed me, and I hated the idea that someone might be upset or offended, all because I couldn't remember them. It's – it's so _weird_ , like I always thought I'd be guilty that I wouldn't remember them . . . now I see you, I just feel _devastated_. How much have I missed? I hope I was a good father, at least."

"You were the best," said Benjamin. "You seem so much different now, though, but I – I guess that's normal, right? Our – our – er – our 'mother' is a complicated thing . . . you're a mutate and all, so it's . . . maybe we could explain it on the way home?"

"A home I have no memory of having with two strangers?"

"We're not strangers, we're your _children_."

Benjamin shot an immediate glance upwards. The scepticism on Peter's face was clear as day, which was something he couldn't blame him for feeling, and he wanted so much to gain his father's trust and just have him back in their lives. It was hard not to feel insulted and abandoned, as his stomach felt like a painful blow struck it, and he gasped for breath as anger and sorrow welled up in his chest, enough that he reached into May's pocket and snatched her phone from her. It took only a few seconds to find what he needed.

There was a photograph of Michelle – Ellie's daughter – with both Richard and April, as they sat outside Preston's house not long after April's birth. It was a beautiful scene, even if April sat awkwardly on her cousin's lap and Ellie's hand could be seen in the frame, as she supported the baby from the sidelines. Richard was covered in mud from a 'sludge fight' with one of his imaginary friends, whilst Michelle was dressed quite boyishly and just home from a martial arts lesson, and April was red in the face from a slight cold that seemed to have made its way around the local children. They weren't just a part of Benjamin, but Peter too.

"There are your grandchildren"

"I have _grandchildren_? I – I can't believe it . . ."

Peter gave a half-smile and looked nervously at the screen. He flicked through to see Michelle and Richard in the bath when they were still toddlers, whilst the next was a picture of Normie holding April by Benjamin's bedside, and another showed Richard _literally_ climbing the walls whilst Wes tried to shoo him down with a broom. Eventually, Peter handed the phone back to them and gave a long and shuddered sigh, before he cast a nervous look to the streets beyond and shrugged reluctantly. He spoke very softly:

"Okay, lead the way."

"Really? You'll come home?" May asked.

"Yeah, but only for a few hours, and if _anything_ feels off then I'm out of there."

May smiled brightly and clapped her hands together, before she dove in and gave Peter a warm embrace. It shocked the older man at first, enough that he flinched and held his arms apart out of uncertainty of what to do next, but he eventually gave her a soft pat on the back and watched nervously as she stepped back. The happiness on her face couldn't be missed, but Benjamin feared her hope came a little too soon.

"Deal," she said.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

The house wasn't a _home_ . . .

Well, it wasn't a home to _Peter_ at any rate. It was hard to call it anything other than a 'house' in his mind, because a 'home' was a place filled with memories and associations . . . a place to feel secure and relaxed . . . this place was simply bricks and mortar, nothing more. It was a home to _someone,_ at least judging from the children's toys in the back and the many flowers at the front, and the mailbox said 'Parker' on it rather proudly. Still, it didn't look anything like his aunt's house or Stark Tower . . . what _was_ this place?

He looked across the road where he was told 'Jeff' and 'Wes' were watching the children, but those names meant nothing to him. It was hard not to feel a spark of guilt, because he knew that those were effectively his sons-in-law and those were also his grandchildren inside, but his mind was blank and his heart couldn't quite feel anything but longing. He couldn't miss what he had no memory of ever experiencing, but he did miss _something_. It was perhaps the worst part of the situation. It was like a name on the tip of the tongue, or a song to which he struggled to remember the words, or something fleeting in his vision.

"Did I – did I ever _meet_ my grandchildren?"

Peter looked to Benjamin beside him. The young man looked too young to have a child, almost barely out of his teens and so timid looking, but there was also a kind of weariness and wisdom that Peter recognised almost at once. It was the look of a person that lived beyond their years and experienced more than they ever ought, and he wondered what hardships his son went through to look like that. Who had he lost? What had he done?

The sky above looked rather miserable, but so far they escaped much of the rain on their long walk back to the house . . . May explained briefly about his life, but he was _sure_ things were missing, although that was probably only natural. There were things she probably wouldn't want to say to someone without the memories to understand the context, but – likewise – there were probably things that a father would never want to tell his daughter, and so the explanation about a 'spell' that made him able to conceive felt rather incomplete, as if she were told some romanticised version of events. He gave a loud sigh and scratched his head.

Benjamin gnawed at his lip and wrapped his arms around himself, so much so that Peter felt his heart race just slightly and his breath leave him, and he felt afraid. He was afraid that he had been a bad parent, because clearly Benjamin held a lot of insecurities. Why hadn't Peter noticed? He hoped – _prayed_ – that he at least tried to address those issues, because his biggest fear was that his son's pain was a part of his actions. Benjamin eventually rubbed at his eyes and gave a very forced smile, which only made Peter's pain worse.

"Er, no, not really . . ."

"Come on," said Peter, "I either did or I didn't. I – I _need_ to know, because when I look at that house . . . when I look at their photographs . . . I don't _feel_ anything! I feel things when I look at you both, but . . . not them. Why don't I feel anything when I think of them?"

"It's because you never met them," answered May. "It's just kind of painful, you know? You died whilst Ellie and Benjamin were both pregnant, and you weren't around at all for the second pregnancy . . . there's so much you missed out on. You'd absolutely love Michelle, plus Richard is such a handful -! I think you'd probably be like Normie and able to calm him down a little! He gets so hyperactive at times! You missed so much . . ."

"Five years," added Benjamin. "You were really good during the pregnancy . . . it wasn't the same without you though. Pops went off the deep end . . . kept believing you were alive and thought the photo of you _was_ you . . . I _needed_ you, but you were gone . . . it's hard to believe you're back. Pops seems to think it'll all go back to how it was, too, but . . ."

"Can't just jump into bed with a stranger," May said with a laugh. "Obviously we don't expect you to just be with Pops again and live with us, but it'd be great to have you back! We can start off small, maybe introduce you to the kids and stuff?"

"I – I think I'd rather meet Wade first," admitted Peter.

"We were afraid you'd say that."

The two of them shared a rather suspicious look. It was enough that Peter scratched nervously at his chest and bit his lip, because there was so much they weren't saying and probably needed to say to him. They appeared to love Wade unconditionally, whilst the photographs showed a clear intimacy between himself and Wade, and he couldn't see any evidence that the other man was abusive or cruel in anyway . . . in fact – from the way they spoke – he was perhaps the most loving and doting father they could have wanted.

"Just remember he's _really_ excited to see you," said Benjamin.

Peter raised an eyebrow at his son, as the young boy blushed to himself. It seemed obvious that a husband would want to see their partner after so many years, unless they moved on and found someone else, but – in Wade's case – he was assured many times that this wasn't the situation. Still, Benjamin seemed reluctant to lead the way into the house, whilst May wore a nervous smile and followed close by her brother, and it wasn't until they stopped at the front door that Peter felt more nervous than he knew he ought. There was something not quite right. He just wished he could remember what, especially now he was about to meet Wade.

"Is there something I should know?" Peter asked.

"N-not really," replied Benjamin. "Pops – Pops just gives a strong impression."

"Apparently you guys knew each other for _years_ before dating," added May. "You used to tease Pops that he was an acquired taste, although – er – he'd make comments like how 'you didn't complain last night' or 'like the spitter would know'. Says it all, I guess?"

"He – he kind of just lacks a filter, Dad! He doesn't mean any harm."

"Right, well, let's get going, shall we?" Peter muttered.

Benjamin opened the door first. He turned to give a brief look to Peter, one that looked somewhat pleading and remorseful, before he entered into the house with May close behind him. There was a moment where Peter doubted himself; he wanted to see Wade close up, especially as he appeared nothing more than a half-hidden face on a small screen until now, and he also wanted so much to meet his grandchildren properly, but he felt afraid. The grey skies above almost reflected what he felt inside, as he felt a mixture of clouded emotions.

He followed inside, just as the first spots of rain began to fall, and he gave a smile at the sights all around him. The living room felt like . . . well . . . _home_. There were spotted memories of what looked like Benjamin curled up in the armchair, with the light from the kitchen door shining over him, and he vaguely remembered the smell of pancakes from the huge serving window that effectively made it into an open kitchen. He remembered what must have been May, as she slept along the sofa and stared lazily at the screen to his far left, and the staircase in front of him led to somewhere he was _sure_ he once had been. It felt so strange! There were only two other people in the room, but neither could he focus on just yet.

' _Petey! Petey, it's you_!'

Peter jerked his head to see a man – standing just beside a larger woman – dive at him. He barely found time to observe her pretty face and how she reached out, as if to desperately try to pull the man back, before a red blur appeared before his eyes and a huge force struck him across the chest. May left and jumped down onto the bay window, whilst Benjamin slunk in and dropped onto an armchair with a rather strange smile, but this man – this man that held him so _familiarly_ – wrapped his arms around Peter and muttered incoherent nothings. The red hooded top he wore was similar to May's, but it hid his face from sight.

The hug was quite comforting . . . firm and yet gentle . . . he found himself draping his arms over the man's shoulders, although he had to smile at how this taller person leant down _just_ to embrace him so closely. There was a faint smell of spices and dirt, almost like he was due for a shower, and it felt so familiar . . . so good . . . this must have been Wade . . . it must have been the husband they told him about. Peter smiled. It was then that he felt a hand snake its way downward and the man groped a buttock . . .

He rapidly pushed him away and slapped him.

"Wow, guess I deserved that," laughed Wade.

It was impossible not to blush indignantly, even as Wade stumbled back a few steps and grasped his cheek to ease the soreness, and Peter raised a hand to his mouth to try and hide his utmost embarrassment. There – there was nothing worse than being groped by a stranger, but worse still when he knew that he probably did a _lot_ worse with said stranger, especially when they had _two_ children together. D-did Wade often do that to him?

He swallowed hard at the realisation that – for Wade – nothing had changed. That should have made him happy, as someone loved him so unconditionally that even years apart couldn't change that, but he couldn't remember _any_ of his past partners or sexual encounters, at least . . . at least none that he _wanted_ to remember. Still, when Wade turned his head to look at him, something inside him broke. Those brown eyes were filled with pain. It wasn't physical either, but something deeper . . . almost like a betrayal or rejection, whilst his skin looked so sore and scarred and shrivelled. _What had he done to him by slapping him_?

"Are – are you hurt?" Peter asked.

"What?" Wade looked to see Peter's hand smudged with blood. "Oh, that . . . I guess this is your first time seeing all this, huh? I forgot that your memory has more holes than Swiss cheese! Want me to put on a mask? I can so put on a mask!"

" _No_!" Peter blushed further at his outburst. "I – I – I mean -! I mean there's no reason for you to wear a mask . . . this – this is your home, right? You – you're Wade, aren't you? My – my name's Peter . . . oh God, what am I saying? You probably know that! Great, now I'm babbling, which is probably just as bad as the – the – the stuttering . . . er, sorry, you just startled me . . . didn't expect you to _grope_ me. Then again, I didn't expect to be _married_."

"Do you remember being married or did the kids tell you? I wanted to tell you the second I saw you about! I _knew_ you were my Petey-pie! I didn't want to spook you, though, so I told the kids before I went and found you! I guess it was a good job they spoke to you first, eh? If a little squeeze gets to you, you probably would have fainted at being married to this!"

"' _This_ ' better not insult himself again, least of all me! I don't know what I was like when we met, Wade, and I'm not saying we'll necessarily become a couple again, because I don't remember you – our home, our children-! Still, I like to think that I was never _that_ shallow-!"

"You're lecturing me! I thought you'd never lecture me again! Sweetums!"

"W-Wade! You – you need to let _go_ -!"

Wade wrapped his arms around him again. He didn't realise how strong the man was until then, as his baggy clothes hid what felt like huge muscles from sight, and Peter felt a little claustrophobic, even knowing that he could break away in an instant with his own strength. The woman nearby – _Paris, Penelope, Preston_ – came over and made to separate Wade from Peter, but he raised a hand gently and shook his head. He could feel Wade wracked with sobs, as well as how he nuzzled into his neck . . . it seemed cruel to move him away.

"We did warn you," teased May.

He gave a nervous smile to his daughter, before he let his head rest upon Wade's. The older man was evidently crying, at least based on how the skin upon his neck began to feel wet and how tightly Wade held onto him, and suddenly he found himself with vague and fleeting memories of events that he couldn't quite place together. There was the image of what seemed like Wade dressed as Spider-Man, but doing something obscene to a villain from a high ledge, and there was a memory something like Wade crying with pain and the sound of sloshing bath water with gentle laughter. He – he didn't remember it all . . . not yet . . .

"Wade, I still don't re-!"

"You're back! I missed you, baby boy! I couldn't sleep for like _ever_ when you left! Your side of the bed was all cold and then they tried to move your stuff and then -! It didn't smell right either, even when I used your lotions and stuff, it didn't smell like you . . . no one would play your music and no one would lecture the kids and no one would stay up late with their glasses askew -! There was no one to hug me at night . . . no one to tell me I wasn't ugly . . ."

"I -!" Peter paused and gave a heavy sigh. "Darn it, now I feel bad. Wade, I – I don't remember you, but I . . . I _feel_ something and your voice is _so_ familiar. I kept hearing a voice in my dreams . . . I think it was yours . . . just – just give me time to remember, okay? My body is here, I think my heart is, too, so just let my mind catch up . . ."

"If you leave me again, I'll throw myself into a vat of acid!"

"Wade, you can't -! You know what? _Fine_."

He threw up his hands in surrender, although it was a pointless gesture when Wade still wouldn't let him go or even look up from the crook of his neck. Preston gave a sigh and mumbled an apology, whilst May giggled behind her closed hand, and Benjamin merely gave a heavy sigh and an embarrassed look towards them. This place didn't _look_ like a family lived in it, so perhaps Benjamin moved out some time ago . . . who did live there? He wondered whether Wade still had a room . . . whether _they_ still had a room . . .

"I promise I won't leave you," said Peter.

"Damn straight you won't! I ain't ever letting you go again!"

"R-right, well, is there anywhere we can talk in private?"

Wade let go of him at once, where he began to bounce on the heels of his feet. He wore such a beautiful smile that Peter felt forced to give a smile back, and he saw – behind the childlike excitement – a darker pain and a deeper wisdom. It made him curious about just _who_ this man could be to him, as there seemed so much more to Wade than he showed to the world. The scars were visible and the tearstains mixed with the blood from the open sores, but – as he made to reach out and brush away the tears – Wade grabbed him hard by his wrist.

"Sure is, sweet-cheeks!"

He found himself dragged quickly upstairs, where he heard Preston call out for Wade to slow down and stop, but Wade – too relieved to have his husband back – ignored her and turned the corner at the top of the stairs. Peter caught a brief sight of a few open doors, where one looked like a teenage girl's room and another a nursery, but he found himself pulled into the first door on his left and pulled into what must have been the master bedroom. Wade closed the door and bounded over to the bed, which exuded a cloud of dust when he jumped on it.

The way Wade dived on the bed made Peter smile. There was a part of him that thought Wade was putting on an act, as if he were faking his relaxed state to try and put Peter at ease, and – as he looked to Wade sprawled on the dusty covers – he remember vaguely an argument that made his heart wrench at the idea. He could remember Wade smiling at something, perhaps he made a bad joke or played a prank, and Peter could remember someone shouting at him or calling him out on his show, and suddenly Wade was crying through the laughter . . . Peter _wished_ he could remember the details. It felt as if he were losing a part of himself in losing Wade, and he longed for the missing piece.

"Was this – was this _our_ room?"

It was a lovely room in theory, but it lacked the life and love he expected. The whole place was covered in a thick layer of dust, whilst the furniture lay bare and void of all personal touches, and there were a stack of boxes in the corner. He noted the boxes were labelled things like 'Dad's clothes' or 'Peter's Favorite Things', whilst one item remained clear as day and the sole thing of sentimental value on show: a photograph of the family. It made Peter smile to see it, especially as it lay on the wall dead opposite the four-poster bed. The photograph of both parents and children was clearly the central focus.

"I – I like the photograph . . ."

"Yeah, it was ages before I'd let Benji touch your stuff," admitted Wade from the bed. "I didn't want you to be gone, plus I _knew_ you'd want it all when you came back! He said we could make a compromise! We put the photo up and left everything in here, but it just had to be boxed up and ready to move . . . for when I felt ready . . . joke's on him, right?"

"He looks like a lot younger in that photograph," said Peter as he sat on the edge of the bed. "I still can't believe I have _children_! I can't even remember coming out as bisexual, too, let alone actually marrying a man and starting a family with him. It's so surreal."

"Hey, I know why you brought me up here, Petey. I'm crazy, not stupid. If things were just going to go back to normal, you wouldn't have wanted to talk in private. This a 'let the freak down gently' thing, isn't it? I don't mind. I get it. Just let me have today to be happy, alright? You'll always be my baby boy! I ain't always been a good guy . . . you made me want to _be_ a good guy, though! You've always saw something in me no one else has."

"If I saw it once, I can probably see it again," said Peter.

"People only see what they want to see."

Wade pulled himself up into a sitting position, where he crawled over to sit next to Peter on the edge of the bed. The back of his hooded top was now grey with dust, whilst he held his hands loosely between his spread legs, and he kept his head low so that he could let his hood hide his face from view. They sat with only a foot or so between them, but – with the sadness practically pouring from Wade – it felt almost like a mile. It was then that Wade turned to look at Peter just slightly, before he wrenched down his hood and showed his face.

"No one wants to see this," said Wade.

There was no denying that Wade's face should have evoked negative feelings, especially as it looked to be a lot worse than the photographs shown to him on May's phone, but he didn't feel disgusted or afraid or anything like it . . . he just felt filled with sadness. He hoped that the sores and scabs didn't hurt Wade in any way, but he could see – as every smile and frown cracked the healing cuts and created a small wince – that there was a lot of pain in the other man's life. He wanted to reach out and touch him, but it felt too intimate to do with a stranger . . . even a stranger to whom he was technically married.

" _I_ want to see it," muttered Peter.

"You don't even _remember_ me, Petey!"

"I don't even remember _me_!" Peter kicked him hard on the ankle. "Do you want to know what I remember? I remember everything until I was around fourteen or fifteen, then I remember flashes of images and voices and feelings . . . a _lot_ of feelings. Your voice is what I heard most of all . . . in my dreams, in my head, in my memories . . . I woke up a lot at night to throw my arms over someone, but they were never there. I always thought they would be, but they weren't . . . I sometimes ordered two tacos instead of one, too . . .

"It – it was like I remembered remembering, you know? It's hard to describe . . . I guess the closest I can call it is like sedation, where you're aware of _everything_ that's happening until you wake up, and you start this mantra of 'I will remember' in your head, desperate to not forget all you went through, but you still forget anyway. It slips by little by little, but you _feel_ it slipping away and you _know_ it's happening. There was a void. It was all the more painful _because_ of it, because it was all _right there_ and yet I couldn't _get_ to any of it! I think – I think I can see what's missing now, but I need time to remember it and _feel_ it. I want a family, true, but I want _my_ family . . . I can only get them back with my memory. Does that make sense?"

"Hey, if you knew me then you'd know it makes a _lot_ of sense! I'm the _king_ of memory problems, peaches! I ain't saying that it doesn't blow big, fat baby chunks all over the place, but it makes it easier having something to live for! It's like . . . I don't know! You and May are always the wordy ones! I guess – if it were you saying it – it's like: when you don't have something to look back on, you'll always have something to look forward to!"

"Oh, and you're what I have to look forward to?" Peter winked and nudged him playfully. "I can live with that. I just need you to know: I might not _want_ you at the moment, but I do _want_ to want you. You seem like a good guy . . . cute, too . . . I wouldn't mind if you wanted to date or hang out some time . . . see where things go and all."

"I'm getting asked out on a first date with my own husband?"

"Yeah, I guess you are," said Peter.

It was then that Peter looked across to the boxes with a smile. The hardest part of this wasn't that his entire life could fit into a stack of boxes in a dusty bedroom, but that it was all so close within reach and he couldn't quite grab it. This was _his_ life and memories, sure, but he couldn't quite remember or relate to any of them . . . he couldn't help but feel scared about opening the boxes both in the room and in his mind. What if he couldn't slot back into his old life? What if he wanted something new? _Why_ was he still alive?

They sat quietly for a while, although – judging from how Wade's leg twitched and he gnawed his lip – it was clear the quiet was slowly killing him, and Peter was almost desperate to say something just to make him feel better. The truth was that Wade was right . . . it was pretty weird to be dating someone that he was married to for what had to be two decades, especially when he held no memory of any of that time between. He could only hope that the memories would slowly come back, as they seemed to very slowly do over the past few years, but – more than that – he hoped he would finally be able to make _sense_ of them and find them a context. He smiled sincerely and drew in a deep breath.

He needed a place to start. It felt too strange to walk around a house that belonged to someone else, especially when – from what he was told – only May and Wes lived there now, and he didn't want to invade their privacy. It didn't matter that the house was technically his, because it didn't _feel_ like it belonged to him. He instead looked across the room with a strange feeling in his chest, as he scratched nervously at it with a curious glance around the room. Everything in here was once his, with memories and sentimental feelings and things of worth . . . he wondered whether Wade could use them to tell him more about himself.

"What's in those boxes, anyway?"

"Want to go through them?" Wade asked. "It might help! You can take some stuff back to your place . . . where is your place, anyway? Don't matter! We can clean the bedroom and set it all back up! I can't wait to move back in! You can join me when you're ready!"

"It could be months – _years_ – before I feel I can move back in."

"No problem! You'll know where to find me!"

Peter smiled warmly. There was some feeling of trust that lingered through everything, to the extent that he _knew_ Wade – despite not really knowing him – could be trusted to keep his word, and Wade wouldn't pressure him for a physical or romantic relationship before he felt ready to commit to something like that. He stood up and walked over to the boxes, before he poked at the one on top and waved Wade over . . . who ran over almost like a puppy.

"So where do we start?" Peter asked.

"The biggest box on top! It has all the photographs!" Wade beamed brightly, before his face paled and became white. "Er, mind if I go through them first? You never let me take the kind of photos I want, but I took _loads_ of me . . . might be a bit early to see them!"

"Maybe save them for another day, in that case . . ."

"Aw, you want to see them some time?"

Peter blushed and gave a sharp frown, unsure how to respond in the least. He was afraid that he would begin to stutter with a single word, but he couldn't really frown at what was probably justified flirting, because – well – they _had_ to have done a lot worse in order to conceive two children. It was then he grabbed the top box and plonked it upon the floor by his feet, whilst Wade dropped down next to it and sat cross-legged, before he pulled a knife from his sleeve and cut through the tape. It was a little disconcerting that he could carry a weapon like that, but more so when he said with a giant grin:

"Unless you'd rather see the real thing?"

"I don't know whether I love you or hate you," teased Peter.

"Love! Definitely love! I love you, too! Love!"

It was impossible not to laugh. The honesty and excitement from Wade was almost contagious, and – even if they didn't end up back together – he knew that the other man would always love him and respect him. It made him almost certain that there was something to salvage and work upon, as the foundation was already there, and he smiled to himself as he reached inside the box and pulled out a photo-album. The front cover was labelled 'Family Firsts', whilst several locks of hair were taped inside, along with items like 'first lost tooth' and 'first nail clippings'. The writing showed Wade compiled it.

"I'll love you, too," whispered Peter.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

"Still not forgiven me, Petey?"

Peter looked up from his book. It was pretty damned difficult to forgive Wade, at least considering how he couldn't remember anything from _after_ the event, but – if he were honest – the foot-rub was helping a considerable amount. He lowered his book to see how his feet fitted almost perfectly on his husband's lap, whilst Wade's callused hands moved with an expertise that came only from practise, and he would admit that he was on the verge of sleep until Wade spoke . . . reality rushed back, whilst Peter pouted on the sofa.

The expression that Wade wore annoyed him, because there was _little_ regret there in the slightest . . . instead, he looked like a child _made_ to apologise. He spoke through his laughter, which was extreme enough to give his brown eyes a mist of tears, whilst his large smile cracked the sores on the corners of his mouth, and – through it all – his body would occasionally vibrate with the _force_ of his laughter. It was almost adorable in a way, but that only reminded Peter of how he _shouldn't_ be overlooking such behaviour, only such behaviour was _technically_ a long time ago . . . too long to punish . . . it was just all so confusing! He began to fidget when Wade gave a deep rub, which caused him to moan aloud . . .

"Hey, Petey, if you think _that_ feels good, you should -!"

Peter kicked him somewhat playfully in the face. It wasn't a hard enough kick to disturb the scabs and scars, but it was enough to turn Wade's head and make him pretend to gag on the smell, and – childishly, he'd admit – he burst into a laughter of his own, before Wade gave a devilish look and pounced on him. They were suddenly wrestling for dominance, whilst Wade made desperate attempts to get to his feet for a 'tickle attack', and it wasn't long before they were both upon the floor. Peter sat astride Wade and pinned his hands by his head.

"Don't make me laugh! I'm annoyed at you!"

"Aw, come on, cutie!" Wade teased. "That was like two decades ago!"

"Yeah? Well, to me it was _last week_."

It was Wade's turn to pout this time, although it was clearly a show designed solely to get Peter to feel sorry for him. The puppy-dog eyes were hard to ignore, whilst Wade was dressed solely in an old pair of boxers and a t-shirt too small for him, and – well – Peter wondered whether his husband dressed that way on purpose. True, it _was_ a lazy morning at home, but Wade looked like he was testing Peter in some way . . . perhaps to see whether he was comfortable with Wade's skin, maybe to see whether he could be seduced . . .

"You have superpowers anyway! You're _Spider-Man_!"

"You didn't know that!" Peter let go and sat back. "You didn't even _know_ who 'Peter Parker' was at the time, so don't give me that! You thought you were throwing an innocent and random bystander to what could be his _death_ from a bridge! It was completely -!"

"Irresponsible? Yeah, I know, I know!" Wade placed his hands on Peter's pyjama-clad hips. "We had this chat loads of times! I was a total douche back then! I can't help it! I was what I was, but I changed! All right? You made me want to be a better man! You don't _remember_ it yet, but I spent _years_ trying to be more like Spidey, then years trying to be a man worthy of _you_! The guy that threw you from a bridge ain't the guy you married!"

"Lucky for you, isn't it? It's weird to remember everything up to that point fully, but not much after . . . if I didn't remember you saving my life, or massaging my baby-bump, or even the way Benjamin threw up in your mouth as a baby . . . I don't remember all of it, not like a real narrative anyway, but I remember enough moments to know you're a good man."

"Nah, you just remember enough of the sentimental stuff to know that it's too late to run now! Eventually you'll remember us being friends, then getting pregnant, then dating, then getting married, then – then – then -! Wait, weren't we arguing? I think we were arguing."

"Do you _really_ want to go back to arguing?" Peter asked.

"Nah, I want to help you remember some more!"

The laugh from Peter came out before he could stop it, but luckily Wade seemed to find it rather endearing, at least judging from the way he sat up and wrapped his arms around Peter's waist, enabling Peter to drape his over Wade's shoulders in turn. They already came so far, so that sharing a bed almost felt the _norm_ . . . enough that Peter realised how much he missed all this time, exactly what he craved and needed, but – despite that – he didn't remember enough to allow anything sexual between them. He hoped Wade didn't mind.

"I think I'm remembering a bit more since then," he said.

"Yeah? How much? Do you remember telling me you're Petey?"

"N-no . . . not yet . . . I remember being your friend, though. I remember fighting 'Hit Monkey', as you called him, as well as some later stuff . . . I'm _still_ annoyed that you threw me out of a car, _yes_ , but I remember a bit further on from that now. It's a start."

It was hard to ignore the genuine smile on Wade's face. The past few months were so difficult for everyone, as Peter struggled to get to know his grandchildren and rebuild relationships with his children, but Wade was there every step of the way. Peter finally felt comfortable enough to move back into the family home with Wade, much to May's mixed feelings of excitement and disappointment, mainly resulting from the happiness at having her father back and the frustration at having a separate room to Wes. Every day that Peter remembered a little more always brought a tear to Wade's eyes, like right then . . .

"It's the fucking _world_ ," said Wade warmly.

Peter blushed as he saw Wade's eye water with tears. There were more memories at night – mainly in his dreams – of a man _touching_ him, which he slowly realised must have been Wade, and at times like these . . . well . . . it made him feel a little confused. _If_ he took the next step with a kiss, it'd be natural and normal, right? After all, they _were_ married and it wasn't as if he could feel guilty or bad about the whole thing . . . he _remembered_ Wade now, if not fully, and he _felt_ things for Wade . . . they loved one another.

They shared an intimate look, as Peter let his head move closer to his husband's, until he could feel Wade's panted breath against his neck . . . then his lips . . . then pause in a clear desire and yet silent plea for permission. Wade appeared _very_ serious when it came to fidelity and consent, but apparently that rule applied to kisses too . . . at least with Peter . . . so it would be up to Peter to take the first step. He felt his heart race through his chest, just as he felt Wade's beat through his t-shirt, and he was starting to pant too . . . eyes dilated and lips dry . . . until he _kissed_ Wade softly and gently. It was almost like his first kiss. It was filled with emotion and passion and curiosity, until they were clinging upon one another . . .

' _Ew, that's gross_!'

Peter jumped to his feet. He stumbled backwards and fell back onto the sofa, whilst Wade let out a loud and cackling laugh, as if this kind of disturbance were normal or the entire thing were somehow funny. It was only then that Peter heard the front door click closed, whilst Wade climbed into a standing position and whisked his only grandson into a loving hold, before he rustled his hair and placed dozens of kisses to the squirming boy's face, and Richard – thinking such things 'gross' – kicked and screamed and laughed. Eventually, he was dropped onto the sofa next to Peter, where he crawled up against his other grandfather and hid under Peter's arm with a smile, seemingly rather sleepy.

He smiled as he saw Benjamin follow after, as he enjoyed his company. It felt a shame that he rarely brought Normie with him, even when he stopped by for breakfast or dinner, but – after once accidentally mentioning Normie's name alone with Wade – he soon learnt that his husband held a _lot_ of dislike for the other man. May even revealed that it seemed to drop ten degrees whenever the two were forced in the same room together, and that Normie disliked Wade just as much in return. No doubt Peter would eventually remember _why_ the two despised one another, but – for the moment – he was happy in ignorance.

"We've come for breakfast!" Richard chirped.

"Really? Wow, that's exciting!" Peter said. Benjamin slipped with a yawn into the armchair to his right, whilst Wade jumped on the sofa next to them. "If you ask nicely, I'm sure Granddad Wade will make you chocolate-chip pancakes."

"No, be – be – because Granddad's not allowed! Daddy said that chocolate's unhealthy, so he says I can't have it, but Granddad makes it anyway, because he's silly! Only that makes Daddy mad, so they argue, but then Poppa gets upset, so they both get upset, and – and – and I asked for cake! They were so sad about making each other sad that I had some! Do you like cake? I like the cake that's red and tastes nice! It looks like it's bleeding!"

It was hard not to give a little wince. The idea of a 'bleeding' cake was somewhat disturbing, but Richard didn't seem to think so in the least. He simply raced through his speech in such excitement that he tumbled over his words, whilst he gripped onto his grandfather's pyjama top and bounced out of the inability to sit still. Benjamin gave a small groan of frustration, which caused Peter to look over to his son. It was clear that he hadn't much sleep, as well as that he was somewhat overworked, and he already curled up with half-closed eyes.

"He means red velvet cake," muttered Benjamin.

"I figured that much," teased Peter.

The young boy by his side was filled with such energy! He already crawled out from under Peter's arm and sat between his grandparents cross-legged, whilst he used his natural webbing to play a game of 'cat's cradle', before he webbed Wade's mouth and instigated a playful wrestling match. It was rather adorable to watch, especially as Wade purposely let Richard win on occasion, but Benjamin only let out a loud groan at the loud sounds the two made, before he grabbed a cushion lazily and shoved it over his head.

"You can tell he's Wade's blood," said Peter.

"Hell yeah!" Wade gave Richard a high-five. "He's got one hell of a potty-mouth, too! I stopped teaching him some words, though . . . Normie is _way_ too much like you! He's all lecturing and angry and stuff when someone is a bad influence on the kids! Hey, you think that's that whole Oedipal thing? Benji basically married you . . . _yuck_ . . . crept out now!"

"I'm _way_ too tired for this shit, Pops," murmured Benjamin. "April was screaming all night, seems to have caught a fucking cold, and Richard has decided that he wants to be in a band. He woke Normie up by setting up _every single pan_ we own into a 'drum set'!"

"Way to go, kiddo! You should use the blender next time, too! Only don't stick your hand in it, because that shit hurts like hell! The microwave bleeps, the whisk makes a whizzing noise, and the doors bang when slammed! There's _lots_ you can do to play music in the kitchen! You can also make music in the bathroom, but that's a whole other story! Say, you want to try using the grater to -! Er, your Poppa is glaring at me. I better be quiet, eh?"

"He's just a kid, Pops! I have to _live_ with it, too! Don't teach him that!"

"Least _he_ ain't using salt instead of sugar, 'cause they look the same!"

"I was _four_ and I'm _tired_! I need to sleep."

Peter let out a soft laugh, as he stood upright onto both feet. He could hear May moving about upstairs, where she and Wes were probably trying to make it seem that they were in separate rooms, and it wouldn't be long before they would be down for their family day. It would have been nice to have Benjamin's full attention, but Peter held vague recollections of being exhausted during mornings and sleepless nights . . . he held a great deal of sympathy for his son. He reached under the coffee table for a thick blanket, which he draped over Benjamin lightly and smiled as his son tucked it under his chin. He looked adorable.

"It's strange what you miss," said Peter softly.

He gave a sigh and reached down to stroke Benjamin's hair, which was so alike his in style and colour, and gently sat back upon the sofa without a sound. Richard jumped over onto his lap, before he reached out for a portable games console on the table, which – with a sudden blaring of noise and excited yells – caused Peter to at once turn the volume down to mute and give his grandson a stern look. Richard smiled childishly, whilst Wade squeezed closer to them and draped his arm around his husband's shoulders affectionately.

"What do you mean, baby boy?"

"I mean . . . I never had siblings growing up, never really thought I'd have a family, and when I pictured one . . . I guess I romanticised it. I pictured the perfect and most cliché family you could imagine, but this -? I think it's perfect _because_ it's imperfect. We're a _real_ family; we might argue, but we love each other and support each other, and none of it is meant maliciously, either. I never realised I missed this . . . _all_ of it."

"You won't miss it later," mumbled Benjamin. "When everyone gets here, when May and Wes wake up . . . Pops and Normie will argue, Richard will be climbing the walls, Michelle will be talking non-stop, April will be screaming, Ellie won't shut up . . . can I go to bed?"

Peter rolled his eyes, but he couldn't be too annoyed at his son. There was still Benjamin's room upstairs, exactly as he left it, but it looked like his son was already asleep, as he nuzzled into his blanket and began to drool just slightly. He looked uncannily like Wade as he slept. Peter put his finger to his lips to signal to Richard to be quiet, but the boy merely looked at him as if he were insane. Luckily, Wade came up with the idea that he 'wake your aunt up', which caused Richard to bound upstairs to annoy someone else than his father.

"Thank you," whispered Peter. "Thank you for finding me."

He bent his head to place a soft kiss to Wade's temple, before he found himself wrapped in a large and warm embrace. There was something always so comforting about being held by Wade, especially when his family were all so close and soon they would all be together, and he felt grateful for this second chance. The improved healing factor was beyond a blessing, and – as he placed kisses to his husband's head – Wade let out a quiet plea:

"Promise me you're here to stay?"

"I promise," said Peter.


End file.
